It was trivial for Jersey to secure an invitation to the gala.
Having made ‘considerable progress’ in a programme designed to teach her to do little else besides cook meals and raise children, the blonde easily passed every test presented to her largely due to the fact that she wasn’t as much of a bimbo as her appearance led everyone to believe, but also because she genuinely enjoyed the non-religious aspects. After she dropped out of highschool, Jersey had been occupying herself with caring for her wolf in peripheral ways: packing her lunches and turning the bed down and the like, her role as a ‘good mum’ expanding from there; admirably applying herself in all the ways the programme demanded of the blonde bimbo, everyone agreed that she would make a worthy trophy for exhibition.
Of course, Callie wasn’t going to let anyone else make her favourite into a ‘Mrs.’ anything, but the sponsored showing at the gala was an inevitable goalpost on their road to dismantling the cult. As far as the wolfgirl was concerned, the event was a necessary way to memorize the scent of powerful game so that her later hunts could be all the more devastating ⸻ but telling herself that over and over didn’t lessen the jealous fire humming in her chest, the predator in her core balking at the idea of placing her mate in danger.
Perhaps that possessiveness was the reason she found herself waking in Jersey’s bed every morning, her own room becoming so disused that Kelly had begun talking about eventually turning it into a nursery.
Sunlight poured in from the blinds like warm molasses through a sieve, slowly baking the blanket-wrapped wolfgirl. Tangled-up in the mess of sheets, burrowed into a mountainous pile of disorderly pillows, Callie became aware of herself in bits and pieces as sleep drained from her limbs: the smooth texture of fabric against her skin, the thirst lingering on her tongue, the gentle silence of of the slowly-circulating air. Unfolding her legs in a languorous stretch, she blinked her eyes against the light, finding that she wasn’t alone; Jersey lay in between her arms, a slight smile on her face as she gazed at the stirring wolf.
“...Mmn?” the amazon rumbled, her voice languidly rising from its lowest register. “How come you’re awake?”
“I couldn’t get back to sleep after Mes finally dozed off,” she said, reaching out to brush the other girl’s hair from her face, “and since it was already so close to morning, I thought I’d lay with you for a little while.”
“You could’ve gotten me up,” the taller girl protested, her complaint dulled by the crackling edge of her drowsy timbre. “I would’ve helped.”
“And how should I have done that?” she giggled, amused by the thought. “It was difficult enough crawling out from your clutches. Surely you’re not suggesting I simply shake two-hundred kilos of wolf awake; I couldn’t even budge you.”
“M’ eighty-five kilos,” the sleepy wolfgirl grumbled, shifting her bulk slightly closer as she drew her mate into a more-purposeful hug. “Very budgeable.”
“Not when you’re fluffy-moded,” Jersey grinned, indulging the cuddly wolf in physical affection, “then you’re even bigger than the bed. Sometimes I feel like I’m sleeping on you more than I am the mattress.”
“Hardly matters, doesn’t it?” the amazon purred happily. “As long as you’re sleeping.”
Lapsing into a comfortable silence, the sisters enjoyed each other’s company, content to let a handful of moments escape between them. Luxuriating in the sunlight and soft touch of her lover, Callie could feel herself start to drift off back to sleep; wanting nothing more than to squeeze her minicow and doze off for another few hours, she nevertheless knew she had to act responsibly. Trying her best to stay awake, she forced her eyes open ⸻ only to discover that Jersey was still studying her, a content smile on her lips.
“What is it?” the taller girl murmured, bemused by her mate’s behaviour. “You’ve been watching me all morning. Do I have something on my face?”
“Not at all,” the minicow hummed pleasantly, adoration shining in her big blue eyes. “You’re simply so beautiful that I can’t help but stare sometimes.”
“Come off it,” the wolfgirl mumbled abashedly, turning pink under the other girl’s gaze. “It’s too early to be teasing me.”
“I’m not teasing you,” Jersey insisted, sincerity suffusing her soft soprano. “You are quite possibly the most attractive girl I’ve ever seen.”
“Then you should look in a mirror sometime, or at Kelly or Genie,” Callie huffed, seized by a familiar self-deprecating guilt, worn thin like an old blanket, “so you can have context for what real beauty looks like.”
Cupping the taller girl’s face in her hands, the shorter girl stubbornly held her sister’s eyeline, attending her mate with loving patience. Arrested by the honesty in Jersey’s eyes, the wolfgirl fought against a lingering instinct to pull away, to hide herself; the charitable appraisal of her monstrous form chafed against her feral heart, the amazon hard-wired to reject praise and compliments as dangerous tools of manipulation. Accustomed to comfortable self-hatred, she balked at the assertion that she could be anything other than mediocre at best.
“I’ll say this as many times as it takes for you to learn,” Jersey said softly, her words overlapping with the mirrored monologue in Callie’s mind, both voices assuring her of her worth, echoes of each other that caressed the wolfgirl’s heart. “You’re gorgeous.” You’re wonderful. “You’re attractive and sexy and cute and good.” You are unbearably hot and terrifyingly strong and worryingly tough. “You’re a thousand amazing things all densely-packed into one wolf; if I were to spend the time to list all of your finer points this morning we would never make it out of bed.”
Grimacing, a frustrated sigh hissed between the amazon’s teeth. “Jersey, I ⸻”
Placing a tiny finger against her lips, the little cow silenced her complaint. “I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t want to hear it. Besides the fact that it’s rude to disparage other people’s girlfriends, I know that those words aren’t yours. I’m not willing to listen to someone else’s insults, not even when they’re coming from such a pretty mouth.”
And of course she was right. Callie’s view of her own self-worth was a product of decades of external influence, callous remarks applied liberally to achieve control of a rebellious beast. Weighed-down by alienating sentiment, her internal soliloquy had warped around the words of others until she’d repeated them with her own voice in a self-sustaining litany. How many times had she succumbed to that awful ritual? Standing blind in front of a mirror, murmuring inevitabilities in a seething refrain: I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.
Having never once allowed herself to preen, the wolf had spent her life hiding in an obliterating shadow, lost in an endless civil twilight. Now, undeniably, she shone so brilliantly that no darkness dared embrace her, and absent that covering garb of miserable protection she no longer understood how to think about herself or what to believe regarding her own qualities. Dragged into a world of light, she resented the polished platinum sheen of the moon, mistaken animosity rumbling in her chest as she growled at her own reflection.
Far too numb to the shock-collar she’d been born wearing, she instead flinched reflexively at her mate’s kindness, wires crossed through exacting punishment.
Removing her lover’s hand, she held it in her own. “I’m sorry,” she sighed, nuzzling the soft scent of the other girl’s golden waves. “I shouldn’t debase your wolf like that.”
Jersey smiled gently. “You don’t have to love her like I do, but I hope you’ll at least be kind to her.”
The word hung in the air for a long moment, unacknowledged by its speaker and yet infinitely captivating to its audience. It shouldn’t have shocked the amazon any, not after her own romantic confession out at the park, but the verbal admission of Jersey’s feelings struck her squarely in the chest. Unable to hide her reaction, she squeezed the smaller girl in her trembling arms; easily seeing through to her mate’s core, the little cow snuggled closer.
Safe in that embrace, Callie held her lover until the morning disappeared completely.
Between classes, homework, walking Xena and caring for her infant daughters, the week before the cotillion flew by. Still unused to the new pace of her life, the wolfgirl did her best to keep up with everything, a background anxiety lingering in the doubt that swam through her thoughts repeating tired words about her fitness as a parent; while they stung sharply at times, the reassuring presence of her co-parent was enough silence the particularly troublesome whispers. With someone as amazing as Jersey around, it was impossible to believe that the little darlings would grow up without feeling properly loved. Secure in that knowledge Callie applied herself to every maternal task that she could, vowing to make up for in practice whatever she lacked in nature.
Once the day of the gala arrived, the amazon found her heart bound-up in possessive jealousy as she contemplated what she’d have to ask of her sister. Putting the mother of her pups in danger was something she was loath to do, and perhaps the only thing that convinced her of the necessity of it was ensuring that whatever vile force had targeted Jersey wouldn’t live long enough to set their sights on little Melia and Mes in turn. Resolved to resort to violence sooner rather than later, she finally imposed on Genie to ask for a convenient enchantment.
“Just something to keep me from tearing through my clothes in an emergency,” Callie said, presenting her case. “I don’t know how you’d do it, but once I’m done wolfing-out I’d prefer if I wasn’t bare-ass naked in the middle of wherever.”
“It’d be quite the sight,” the djinn agreed with an amused half-smile, “but it would certainly draw the wrong kind of attention. Thankfully, I believe there’s a practical solution.”
“So you’ll do the enchantment?” the amazon asked nervously, wondering if she would have to make a similar ‘deal’ with the dark-haired woman that she had with Kelly.
“Oh no, there’s no need for my intervention,” Genie explained, “not while we conveniently have a sorceress so close to you.”
Jersey had been delighted to learn the spell, of course, but Callie wasn’t sure if it was out of a desire to stretch her nascent magical capabilities or simply to be useful to her wolf. Either way, in exchange for a few hours’ effort and a brief nap for both mother and daughters, the shorter girl was able to provide an enchantment that would hopefully prevent her from shredding the very expensive clothes she’d bought for the occasion.
Unfortunately, the day had already melted into evening before she could get a chance to test its effectiveness; returning from her wolf form always required either a significant number of hours or a rather messy liaison with her mate, and the expenditure of time or energy wasn’t something she could afford. Forced to hope for the best, she returned to her room to dress and make herself presentable for the (assumedly) prestigious event. Fussing over the details of her appearance, it was already time to leave once she’d finally finished. Between the slight chill and threat of rain, she was graciously allowed to wear a long coat over her outfit, foiling Kelly’s desires to photograph the moment ⸻ not that she didn’t snap a few anyway, insisting that the amazon would definitely want a memento.
The venue for the cotillion was inside the city, which was both a positive and a negative; on the one hand, it meant that they would be able to ride the rail downtown and almost straight to the doors, but the tradeoff meant that Callie and Jersey had to spend the ride in full view of the evening traffic, dressed-up like two teens on the way to prom. Not that the wolfgirl would’ve minded taking her girlfriend to that sort of event, but standing out in public wasn’t something she relished; still, she would have to get used to it eventually simply because the shorter girl’s impossible hourglass figure drew stares no matter what she was wearing.
It wasn’t just the shorter of the pair that attracted interest, either. The considerable height gap between herself and her girlfriend only made the amazon seem that much more massive by comparison. Hardly anyone else in the car even approached her towering height, and the accentuating accompaniment of her extremely pretty date magnified the wolfgirl’s aura to dangerous levels. As someone who had spent her life being fairly unremarkable, the change was slightly disconcerting; conscious of the gazes turning her way, she wasn’t sure if she delighted in the attention as a strange kind of validation, or if it was something to be wary of given her ever-present concern for her mate.
Deciding that the safest thing to do would be to ‘own it,’ she drew herself up to her full and imposing height, taking charge of the situation. Displaying Jersey on her arm like the little cow was accompanying her for the express purpose, Callie pretended indifference to the envious stares of those around her ⸻ though her patience only extended so far, and the murderous look in her eyes was enough to deter those who had spent just a bit too long gazing at her gorgeous ornamentation.
Her girlfriend, of course, wasn’t ignorant of her wolf’s behaviour. Giggling to herself as she floated along on daringly tall heels, the bubbly blonde beamed at her taller lover.
“... What?” Callie questioned, having just finished leveling a threatening stare at a leering businessman.
“Nothing in particular,” Jersey hummed, smiling happily.
“You seem like you’re enjoying yourself a little too much for it to be ‘nothing’,” the amazon returned with a bemused smirk.
“What can I say?” she laughed, squeezing the taller girl’s arm affectionately. “There’s just something very pleasant-feeling about being protected and exhibited at the same time.”
Rather than embarrass her, the other girl’s comment instead emboldened Callie, filling her with a queer sense of pride. While she would’ve enjoyed a role as the other girl’s guardian, viewing herself externally clarified what the perception of her had to be; it was clear to all the onlookers that the strikingly-dressed amazon was someone important, the intimidating scion of an influential family wealthy enough to either afford or attract her petite escort ⸻ who obviously had received a ton of expensive plastic surgery in the form of gravity-defying implants and lip injections, perhaps paid for by her looming beau. Paradoxically, their presence on the public rail only solidified the impression that they were people to take note of, the absence of bodyguards suggesting that the taller girl was capable of handling herself in a confrontation. Get faster updates on novelping.com.
Of course, the truly obscenely wealthy would’ve sprung for personal vehicles with full-time drivers and the like, but the wolf inside her was thrilled to show-off her mate to an appreciative audience. Jersey was hotter than even the women of her wildest dreams, and being implicitly recognized as her figurative (or perhaps literal) ‘owner’ had a powerful effect on the amazon’s self-confidence.
Even Megan was aware of the change, having spent a considerable amount of time in the wolfgirl’s presence over the last several weeks. Her favourable appraisal was obvious in her reaction as they met her just outside the event, the shorter girl assuming a standoffish disposition to hide her jealousy towards Jersey and her blatant desire for Callie.
“You look like an expensive hooker,” the cantankerous girl blurted out by way of greeting, unmistakably irritated that her date had arrived with another girl on her arm.
“Thank you!” Jersey bubbled excitedly, her delicate blush deepening slightly. “I was worried I wouldn’t look posh-enough for a debutante, so I appreciate your reassurance.”
Fixing her with a perplexed stare, Megan’s outrage was stymied somewhat by her confusion. “Are you stupid?” she huffed, recovering her fierce glower. “I literally just said you look like a whore.”
“But an expensive one,” the bimbo returned disarmingly, nonplussed.
Fuming, the taller girl was clearly readying another acerbic comment, but Callie had already had enough of her immature conduct.
“I’m happy the two of you are getting along,” the amazon said pointedly, an obvious reproach in her tone, “but I’d rather not hang around outside and wait to get rained on.” Offering her hand to the prickly girl, she flashed her a charming smirk. “Shall we?”
Grumbling her acceptance, Megan awkwardly accepted her date’s invitation, her complexion reddened by her bashfulness. Callie did her best to hide her laughter under her tongue as she walked her companions inside, hoping that the evening wouldn’t turn into something she’d regret.
After they’d left their coats at the check-in by the door, the trio had their first real chance to take in each other’s outfits.
Unsurprisingly, Megan was the most conservatively dressed. Sporting a royal blue cocktail dress with lace sleeves, she was adorned just-enough to look appropriately fetching for the occasion while still retaining a ‘God-honouring’ modesty. Lacking hardly any accessories save the ring Callie had supplied her with, even her natural-look makeup was so subtle as to provide plausible deniability that she was wearing any at all.
Jersey by contrast was her opposite in many respects, the little cow lifted-up on perilous heels that would’ve been chancy dance attire for anyone else. A ruby-red gown dripped down her curves like it had been painted-on, contouring to her body so precisely that it begged the question of how she had managed to put it on in the first place given the disparity between her child-bearing hips and her impossibly-tiny waist. Some large hoop earrings that might’ve been trashy on someone else instead seemed classy in the context of her ‘escort’ vibe, reinforcing the idea that while she had been bought and paid for, her per-hour rate was likely appropriately pricey ⸻ though her always slightly-parted, overly-plump lips suggested that thoughtful conversation wasn’t among the services the blonde bimbo provided.
Weirdly ⸻ or weird from Callie’s perspective, anyway ⸻ the wolf herself was the most eye-catching, her six-foot-four frame elevated slightly by her block-heeled booties. Clad in a silk slim-fit suit with matching slacks, the shiny black fabric paired well with the soft grey of her shirt, offsetting the asymmetrical gold pattern that covered the left side and right lapel of her blazer. An unassuming tie with a golden pin completed the look, covering the buttons that held on for dear life as her sizable chest strained against her clothes. Her platinum locks hung straight, the underlayer highlighting the stark contrast between her hair and her suit, the combination of which seemed to demand attention while implying an indifference towards onlooking stares.
“I see why you didn’t want to show it off at home,” Jersey giggled, eyeing her girlfriend up and down appreciatively. “You’ll get half the girls here pregnant just from looking at you.”
“I certainly hope not,” Callie replied with a lopsided smile, unable to keep the self-satisfied smirk out of her voice. “We’ve already got our hands full with the twins as it is.”
“They’re way beyond ‘handfuls’,” Megan muttered as she snuck alternating glances between the little cow’s enticing décolletage and the wolf’s impressive bustline.
The amazon couldn’t help but notice her date was trying to be subtle about the way her eyes roved her inseam; while her tailored slacks didn’t make her bulge obvious, they didn’t completely hide it either, and she found the thirsty looks her escorts gave her to be quite gratifying. Of course, she’d never admit her sense of validation to Kelly, as she and her mum had fought over whether or not the suit was too ostentatious for the event; given the decor and high ceilings of the venue, her mum had clearly been correct regarding both the fitness and the effect of her outfit, and Callie knew she’d be insufferably smug about it if she ever found out.
As much as she would’ve liked to enjoy her clothes and the gala for the sake of either, their plans had begun to unfold around them the moment they arrived. Though Jersey was technically being sponsored by the programme, she was officially attending under Callie’s escort which left the wolfgirl in charge of both of her dates. Their first step required presenting themselves to Assistant Chief Baxter so they could be announced to the party proper, but the judgemental man took one aggressive look at Callie and washed his hands of any involvement in his daughter’s affairs; naturally that would irreparably damage Megan’s social cadre over the course of the upcoming social season, and they all hoped her father’s punishment started and ended there.
Left to play guardian for both of the young women by her side, the amazon quickly discovered that her relatively unknown status created significant interest in her person. Apparently the charitable organization associated with the Genesis cotillion didn’t entirely see eye-to-eye on certain dogmatic interpretations of the scriptures, so even those who would’ve been predisposed to violently eject either a lesbian or a trans girl from the venue ended up trying to draw the wolfgirl into their orbit if for no other reason than to prove their inherent superiority to her. Amusingly, that left Callie with the enviable position of being able to snub them in turn, contenting herself with parading Jersey like she was a favourite pet groomed to catch the attention of eligible bachelors.
Naturally, they flocked to her in droves.
Every young man in attendance made a point of asking at least one of the girls in Callie’s party to dance, either of their own volition or at the encouragement of their string-pulling mothers. As the woman ‘in possession’ of her dates, it was up to the amazon to decide whether Megan or Jersey would accept any invitations, controlling the other girls like objects more than people. Leaning on the established fiction, she was far more reticent when it came to allowing access to her ‘real’ date, but she encouraged Jersey to take to the dance floor as often as possible or otherwise entangle her in conversations with the older men who leered greedily at her, hoping to unmask any potential cultists that might betray their interests.
As the sorceress of the two, the minicow was able to sense lingering traces of magic that were invisible to the wolfgirl. Operating as a detective pair, Jersey concentrated on analysing groups of attendees for any of the ‘links’ that Genie had taught her about, while Callie leaned on her extensive personal knowledge of similar cults to identify the more mundane members. Sweeping the crowd at an efficient if relaxed pace, they carefully combed through the cotillion’s guests, dropping little hints and studying reactions to their general presence.
“Anything?” Callie asked as they drifted away from a small circle of mid-forties men, all of whom had talked loudly over each other in a bid to prove to the enchanting escort that they were the dominant male of the conversation.
“Maybe that concrete baron?” Jersey suggested, glancing over her shoulder at the company owner that looked like he himself had been built from bags of gravel. “It’s very faint, but I picked up one of those ‘bad vibes’ from him and his son.”
“That matches my suspicions,” the wolfgirl agreed, discreetly peering at the group out of the corner of her eye. “I didn’t catch it in time, but there was some ink under his collar; not usually the kind of thing ‘civil’ society lets go.”
“I noticed it when he was trying to fall into my boobs,” the other girl nodded, having had similar thoughts. “It was some kind of elaborate illumination of two letters, ‘PB,’ and he reeked of the champagne that’s going around.”
“That’s a ‘patriot’ tattoo,” Callie sighed, recognising the hate-group symbol. “Not surprising, but very dangerous.”
“Isn’t he a little old to be playing ‘cowboy’?” Jersey wondered, turning their appraisal over in her head. “I’d expect that kind of thing from his son, maybe, or college kids, but not a respected construction magnate.”
“It’s been almost a decade since the start of the administration’s first term,” the taller girl reminded her, providing context for the conjecture. “He could’ve had it done a while ago, but I doubt he’s mellowed-out enough not to want to be out bullying minorities on the frontlines.”
“Let’s mark him down as ‘likely,’ then,” the bimbo decided, gesturing to the jacket pocket where Callie had been keeping her phone. “If he’s not a magical problem, then he’s definitely politically active.”
As the amazon understood it, they didn’t actually need to notify Genie of anything since the djinn was passively observing the area around them, but Callie figured the contextualisation provided by Jersey’s annotations would be useful for overall threat assessment ⸻ and besides, there was no such thing as being ‘too’ well-informed.
Passing through a dozen more social circles, the pair steadily worked their way through a large corner of the party. While the minicow was off on the dance floor dealing with young men who clearly believed that proper etiquette wasn’t something they needed to spend on the expensive escort beyond the bare minimum, the wolfgirl hung back and watched the faces of those eyeing her girlfriend, categorising them in her mind based on the level of disdain or arousal (or both) displayed on their faces and in their body language.
“Is this alright?” she checked in with her little sister during a break, taking advantage of the privacy of the restrooms. “I mean, that I’m more or less ‘whoring you out,’ as Megan would describe it.”
“But you’re not actually,” her petite girlfriend pointed out, “and even if you were, I trust that you’d keep me safe.”
“Really?” Callie replied, taken aback by the idea that Jersey would even consider such an arrangement. “Like, you wouldn’t be upset if I was trying to hook you up?”
“As long as it’s for a little bit of fun, I don’t see the problem,” the other girl shrugged, jostling her incredible curves with such a relatively small movement. “I mean, I’m basically built for sex. No harm in using a tool for its intended purpose, innit?”
“Well,” the wolf hedged, eyeing her girlfriend’s voluptuous figure, “as long as you’re sure, I can think of a few ways to take advantage of your … uh, ‘charms’.”
“I’m sure,” the little cow giggled, pleased with the distracting way she could draw her lover’s eye to her bouncier bits with just the barest gesture. “At the end of the day, it all belongs to you anyway.”
Emboldened by Jersey’s implied submission and enthusiastic encouragement, Callie gradually escalated what she would allow the handsier boys to do with her escort. Taking advantage of Elsa’s warning regarding their ‘trophy hunting’ behaviour, she exploited their masculine urges by implying that she would be willing to trade social favours in exchange for letting them take a go at her bimbo behind closed doors ⸻ not that she delivered the message to the young men themselves, of course, but instead to their mothers.
A surprisingly-effective strategy, it communicated that the amazon was willing to ‘play ball’ when it came to the more-objectionable aims of either the attendees or the Genesis cotillion itself, and in trade for allowing their sons to blow off some steam in Jersey’s cleavage the matrons of the gala patiently introduced the wolfish young woman to a number of high-profile individuals responsible for running either the city or important businesses inside of it. Under the protective and watchful eye of her mate, Jersey finished off a dozen or more horny young bachelors, the gorgeous blonde bimbo so delectably supple that she barely had to try to get them off once they went from her hands to her tits. Giddily performing for her girlfriend, the seductive little cow seemed to enjoy showing off as she coaxed loads from her clients, getting off to the powerful feeling of control she provided for her wolf.
“Maybe I’m a bit deranged,” Jersey started sheepishly, wiping fresh spooge from between her tits with a handful of cocktail napkins, “but when I glance over and see you watching me from the chair with that haughty look on your face, and such hunger in your eyes, it’s … ⸻ well.” Biting her lower lip, she held the amazon’s gaze, a building tension crackling between the two. “It’s extremely hot.”
“Oh?” the wolfgirl purred, eyeing her mate with obvious desire and a knowing half-smile. “I thought you might like seeing me hold your leash, but I didn’t realise you’d enjoy it that much.”
“That overwhelming confidence of yours is unbearably sexy,” the little cow giggled as she squirmed under the wolf’s gaze, her plush thighs rubbing together beneath the silky fabric of her dress. “I just know I’m going to be obsessing over it in the bath later.”
“Maybe I’ll climb in with you, then,” she chuckled softly, caressing the side of her lover’s face with an authoritative hand, reveling in the way her girlfriend leaned into her touch. “Give myself a chance to work out some of this stress on my fuckdoll.”
“Stress, huh?” the bimbo smirked, reaching out to glide her fingers along the other girl’s bulge, smugly satisfied with how easy it was to provoke a reaction from her wolf. Read this novel at novelping(.)com for the best experience.
“Jersey,” Callie hissed excitedly, reproach and passionate thirst both lingering on her tongue. “You’re going to make me lose focus if you keep that up.”
“I would never,” the minicow laughed teasingly, undoing the button of her girlfriend’s trousers with practiced ease. “I’m just … helping you take the edge off.”
By the time Jersey had finished ‘calming’ her wolfgirl, the resulting aftermath was far more than a few napkins could solve, necessitating a trip to the washroom so that the bimbo could re-set her lipstick and dry her panties. Callie for her part felt quite alert after the brief session, and so she asked Megan to guide the smaller girl to the bathrooms with a mumbled apology for the sticky mess she’d caused.
So it was that halfway through searching for another ‘buyer’ she was eventually presented to François Bishop, a man who seemed to glide through the currents of the cotillion and yet somehow remain separate from the other attendees, as though they were all seeking to catch his attention. Perhaps unsurprisingly he approached her while both Jersey and Megan were off freshening up, singling out the towering girl.
“It’s a clever little game you’ve got going,” the well-dressed gentleman congratulated her with a slight French accent, standing out just as much as Callie in his immaculate white suit. “Which is why it’s such a shame that you’re making so little headway.”
“Am I?” the amazon returned with an affectation of indifference. “No one here knew my name when I walked in the doors, and yet now they’re throwing their sons at me.”
“That’s exactly the problem,” he chided, wagging a ring-clad finger at her theatrically. “The true measure of success is when they start launching their husbands at you as well.”
“And you speak from experience,” Callie stated as much as inquired, cautiously sizing-up the strange man.
Though he appeared to be in his late forties or early fifties, he seemed wealthy enough that his true years might’ve been masked by the combined abilities of a personal trainer and an on-call doctor. His hair and beard were both kept short and stylish, the greying bits of his salt-and-pepper colouring having been so well-placed that Callie almost suspected a deliberate dye job. His gleaming white suit was accentuated by crosses for cufflinks and the icon of some saint or another on a broach affixed to his cravat, though whether it was to display his affluence or piety (or both) was up for debate. Curiously, every single finger including his thumbs each wore a ring set with square gemstones, with no two pieces alike in either minerals or metals, highlighting his eccentricity while doing nothing to illuminate why he might be such a big deal.
“I’ve been around for a while, let’s say,” he answered with a knowing smirk that hid a wealth of information in its depths. “Everyone here knows my name, and I know all of theirs in turn: Assistant Chief Baxter, Commissioner Dubois, Pastor Gary, Arnold Stephens the CEO of Altcorp ⸻ all the servants of this wonderful city whether they be great or humble call upon François Bishop in their time of need, and I like the Holy Son of God Himself answer their prayers with grace and benediction.”
“And what exactly do you do, again?” Callie prodded with a bemused expression, trying to uncover whatever the fuck the overblown dandy wanted from her.
“A little of this and that,” he shrugged, illuminating nothing. “I solve problems, you see, even those that require a miraculous touch: healing the lepers, transmuting lead into gold, helping the blind to see and the lame to walk, smiting enemies … ⸻ nothing is too great or small a task.”
“I’m getting the sense that we’re bargaining here,” the wolfgirl mused, only slightly entertained by his weird persona, “though I’m not exactly sure for what.”
“Whatever you’d like,” he grinned, showing pearly-white teeth. “If it is in my power to grant ⸻ and I assure you that it is ⸻ I will satisfy whatever it is your heart desires.”
“In exchange for a tumble with my escort?” Callie chuckled, making it clear exactly what she thought of both his promises as well as his prices. “That seems like quite an unfair trade.”
“One fuck for one wish, you mean?” he returned readily, his eyes sparkling like a used-car salesman who had cornered a desperate mother of two.
“Exactly,” she nodded, her biting tone looking to cut him down to size, “and on that account I’ll have to disappoint you. Jersey’s worth far more to me than one meager wish, and so I must decline your ‘generous’ offer.”
She made to leave, having already lost interest in the cocksure man, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm. Turning back, she glowered at him, a murderous growl rumbling in her chest; eminently capable of noticing when his life might be at stake, he released her immediately and threw up his hands in a placating gesture.
“Let’s not be too hasty, yes?” he tried again, his overconfident smile a permanent fixture on his face. “Besides, as fecund as your voluptuous companion might be at her ripe young age, it’s not her that sparks my interest. My tastes are much more Catholic than that, you see? I’ve had my eye on you the whole evening, and the delicious duality that you represent.”
His eyes fell below her waist, his painted lips pursed in lecherous admiration.
“So you’re a chaser,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes as she caught the true measure of the man.
“If that’s how you’d prefer to frame me,” he agreed, entirely unbothered by her caustic tone or direct assertion. “God made both man and woman in his image, did He not? And here you are, possessed of both sumptuous forms: Perfection, in the flesh.”
She leveled an unimpressed look of disgust in his direction. “I couldn’t care less about your opinions, and I’m not going to sit here and listen to you prattle on about my body. I want nothing to do with you, as I find you to be an exceedingly vile man,” she spat, her disdain clear in her irritated tenor.
His grin never faded, the man totally unphased by her insult. “Those much more powerful than you have named me far worse, I assure you,” he laughed, a sickening sparkle in his eyes. “If I cannot interest you in either my person or my great works, then tell me: what shall I do to win you?”
Taking a bold step towards the taller girl, he took her hand in his, as though she would fall for this simple seductive gesture; enraged, she ripped it away from him, snarling viciously.
“Fuck off and die,” she snapped, gracing him with a rude gesture.
“I promise you that you wouldn’t like it if I did,” he said threateningly, his mask slipping for the barest moment. Waving his hand over his face as though he really were resetting his costume, he smiled at her once more. “Perhaps, my handsome flower, what you need is the proper encouragement. Whenever it is that you find yourself ready to accept my gracious hand, head to any church in the city and beg for my forgiveness; like Our Heavenly Father above, I promise I shall heed your bitter complaint.”
Grateful to be rid of his unsettling presence, Callie was happy to watch his retreating form disappear into the crowd. Certain that a slimy character claiming to offer ‘wishes’ rated highly on the list of likely cultists, she glanced at her phone to see if any warnings had gone off; absent any texts, she assumed Genie had noticed and ear-marked him for later.
Sometime after the flamboyant man’s exit, the wolfgirl was picking through the crowd, trying to discover where her girlfriend had gone. Though she’d seen a couple of boys eyeing her date a little while prior to her upsetting conversation, they were to abide by the rule that no one was allowed to touch her without Callie present, a fact that Megan was supposed to remind them of while escorting her girlfriend to the powder room ⸻ though the wolf soon discovered that she was conspicuously absent as well. Stalking through the gala in search of her girls, she came across assistance in the most unlikely of ways.
“Brambell!” a familiar voice hissed from the shadows, one of the well-dressed servers waving at her as he tried to get her attention. “Brambell! Over here!”
“... Dario?” she questioned, surprised to find a friendly face among the army of workers seeing to the needs of the partygoers. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Kissing ass and collecting a paycheck, obviously,” he said quickly, his usually conspiratorial tone mixing with an uncharacteristic impatience. “That’s not important, though ⸻ do you know where Jersey and Megan are right now?”
“Not at all,” she admitted readily, frustrated that she’d failed in her role as guardian so thoroughly that someone else had needed to step in. “They went to the bathroom maybe twenty minutes ago, and I haven’t seen them since.”
“Then it’s lucky I found you.” Gesturing for Callie to follow, he led her to a nearby set of stairs, a sign at the base of which indicated they were off-limits for the event. “A little while ago I scoped a couple Boomers taking them upstairs somewhere. I tried to stop them, but some dude in a white suit said he already had your permission.”
“I see,” she growled in irritation, sure that she knew who he was talking about. “Did you recognize any of them?”
“Just the preacher,” Dario answered, the corners of his mouth turning down into a worried frown. “His face was all over the news about a year ago when his church was caught in a scandal involving some of the kids in the youth group ⸻ one of the little ‘bible camps’ they run, I mean.”
“Pastor Gary?” she ventured, remembering a few of the things Megan had said to her.
“The one and only,” he nodded, confirming her fears. “I wouldn’t trust that man around any children, and Jersey still looks young-enough to be his ‘type’ if the rumors were at-all true.”
Callie didn’t doubt that the ‘rumors’ were far closer to fact, though clearly someone had found a way to bury the veracity of those claims. If François Bishop could truly grant the wishes of the city’s upper crust, then something like making a scandal disappear clearly fell within his purview. While she had no idea how he convinced Jersey to go along with him, she had to believe that whatever it was he had planned would somehow be payback against the wolfgirl for slighting him.
“Thanks, Dario,” she sighed, clapping him on the shoulder before heading towards the stairs, a determined look on her face. “I owe you one.”
“What’re you gonna do?” he demanded as she reached the steps, a concerned cast to his expression.
Turning slightly, she tossed him a vicious smile over her shoulder.
“I’m gonna handle it.”